


Hitch in the Proceedings

by lost_spook



Category: Doctor Who (1963)
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Collection: Fandom Stocking 2015, Ficlet, Gen, Tropes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-05-12 14:35:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5669533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lost_spook/pseuds/lost_spook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seven, Ace, a mysterious alien rite, and sadly no explosions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hitch in the Proceedings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ravenskyewalker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ravenskyewalker/gifts).



> From a genremixer prompt Seven/Ace + accidental marriage.

“So, what was all that weird chanting about?” asked Ace, as she and the Doctor legged it out of the temple, leaving behind them a building with a hole in it and some more than usually pissed off blokes in dodgy robes. “I thought I was about to get sacrificed like in one of those dead cheesy horror films. Still, at least I socked that Mardar bloke one before he could get the knife in.”

“Er, yes,” the Doctor said, “and just as he was wishing us many blessings for our new life together, too.”

“Eh?” Ace stopped.

“The ceremony,” said the Doctor. “It wasn’t – ah, well, never mind. It’s not that important.”

“When you say that sort of thing, Professor, I start getting worried.”

“Well, certainly not important on a universal scale . . .”

“Oh, great. What now?”

“Bear in mind that I’m no expert on Brigardic culture, of course, but I’m fairly sure that we just got married.”

“What!” Ace stared at him. “But you didn’t even _ask_ me!”

“Matters are a good deal more formal in these parts. The government decides on a suitable match for each of its citizens. And they felt that we deserved each other, it seems.”

“Alien troublemakers united?”

“Something like that.”

Ace cheered up again. “Still, it won’t matter once we get back in the TARDIS and out of this dump, will it? I mean, it’s not like we’re Brigardic. I’m from Perivale. We have register offices and people shacking up together and that dodgy vicar who’s always too drunk to get the words right.”

“Yes, well, you would think so, wouldn’t you?” said the Doctor, looking even shiftier, “but I’m told that they don’t leave anything to chance and the ceremony tends to induce some rather odd side-effects to ensure the chosen couple stay together. It varies, in the tales I’ve heard, but usually some sort of mental link. We might start hearing each other’s thoughts, or suffering pain when apart, or – well, I’m sure we’ll soon find out.”

“Gordon Bennett.”

“So, I suggest that we stick around and petition for an immediate divorce.”

Ace shoved her hands in her pockets as she thought about that. “Yeah, but, Professor – I just punched their chief priest in the face. And I don’t think they liked us very much even before that.”

“I admit, it may take all my persuasive powers, but I’m sure we’ll manage. All we have to do is rustle up a just impediment or two, bribe or threaten some important figures, and wait six years.”

“Six years!!!”

“Six Brigardic years, which is equal to . . . four Earth years.”

Ace thought some more, and opened her mouth to make a suggestion, but the Doctor interrupted before she could.

“And, no, Ace. Blowing up the temple will in no way invalidate the ceremony!”

“How do you know?” said Ace. “Bet you no one’s tried that before.” She was then struck by another passing thought. “Hey, what am I now? Mrs Doctor? Mrs Smith? Mrs Weird Long Secret Gallifreyan Name That My Bloody Husband Won’t Even Tell Me?”

“Don’t be so sexist, Ace,” said the Doctor with a wink. “I’ll be Mr McShane, of course.”


End file.
